Merica
by Wilcheska
Summary: Katniss' final arrow destroys the power grid, plunging the continent into darkness and full-scale revolution. Now she must struggle to find relevance as a one-armed archer. The rivalry between Gale and Peeta escalates. And special effects from the Hunger Games have gone rogue, menacing an entire nation and its eco-system.
1. Chapter 1

**Merica**

Chapter 1

I'm in the mines, holding my father's hand. He's singing a song that I remember from my childhood. He kneels down beside me.

"You have to go now, Katniss. The mine is about to collapse," he tells me gently. I cling to him, unwilling to let go of his hand. His voice becomes more urgent: "Run. It's collapsing. We have to get out."

Finnick's lips are on mine, kissing me. And Gale is there, dressed as an Avox. I've never seen him cry before. My head hurts too much to make sense of any of this. Distant explosions remind me of my father and I repeat his words: "Run. It's collapsing. We have to get out."

My father's words echo urgently in other voices. There are shouts and footsteps. Then Gale is carrying me, running down the corridor of the arena launch area. An explosion nearly knocks him off his feet. Dirt sifts down from cracks in the ceiling and light fixtures sway. My ears are ringing. I turn my face to his shoulder and breathe through his shirt. Bodies scramble through the rubble, pulling me with them. We crash through heavy metal doors and the sky is blue.

Gale is out of breath and everyone is coughing. Another explosion showers the loading dock with shrapnel, so we take cover in the back of a supply truck. Through my half consciousness, I'm aware of bickering over who can drive. I'm wondering if anyone ever learned and then the truck lurches down a winding hill.

"You just saved all of our lives, Katniss." Finnick says. "How did you know it was going to collapse?"

"My father told me." I say, and then I remember that my father died in the mines when I was 11. My memory is playing tricks on me.

"So what's the score? Are we even yet?" It's Johanna. "I've lost count and I don't know who owes who in the life saving department."

"I know you have more kills," I don't recognize this voice, but I worry about the score in the Quarter Quell and wonder if someone killed me. I have a vague memory of Johanna on top of me with a knife … could it be real?

"You!" I turn to Johanna. "You cut me!"

"So she remembers something," Finnick grins.

"I removed your tracker, genius." Johanna holds up my arm so I can see the bleeding gash. "Then I dragged your sorry ass all the way to the platform so we could escape. I saved your life twice, Princess. You're welcome and you're welcome."

"But why?" my head is spinning and nothing makes sense.

"It wasn't out of fondness, believe me. You and Peeta are just too important to the cause."

I lose consciousness on that bumpy ride with Gale holding on to me like he'll never let go.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"It looks like her fever's broken." It's Prim's voice! I struggle to open my eyes, but my vision is distorted. I smile weakly at my mom and Prim. Gale is sitting by my bed asleep, his arm draped protectively across me. Pure joy fills my heart. Everyone I love is right here and all seems right with the world. Everyone's here ... except Peeta. "Peeta?" I whisper, and Gale wakes up and frowns.

My mother replaces the cool cloth on my forehead. "We almost lost you, Honey."

"Several times," Gale adds. "Do you remember your arrow, Katniss? The electric current stopped your heart. Finnick made you breathe again. Damnedest thing I ever saw. He said he'd teach me."

My arrow. I remember aiming at the sweet spot, the shimmer that indicated a weakness in the force field. Was there a wire tied to the end?

"You set the world on fire this time, Catnip."

Prim kisses me and makes me drink sips of water. I'm thirsty but so queasy. "Take it easy. You have a concussion. Don't drink too much or it will come right back up again."

The Hunger Games seem like a bad dream, and at first I'm not sure how many times I was a contestant or even if I am still in the arena. Then I remember Johanna clobbering me with the wire spool and cutting my arm. Prim tries to stop me, but I raise my left arm. All that remains is a bandaged stump below my elbow. I scream and struggle to sit up. Prim looks helplessly at my mom.

"We had to, Honey. The cut was so deep and it became infected. You would have died."

"You should have let me!" I sob. "You don't understand! I can't hold a bow. I'm defenseless, helpless. All that I am has been destroyed!"

I fly into a rage. "Johanna! Where is she?"

"Oh, Katniss. She feels bad enough already. Besides, we think the moss may have caused the infection. Beetee lost his arm, too, but Finnick and Johanna are fine."

I'm struggling to catch up, to remember the moss that I used as bandages on myself and on Beetee, and to understand that this is really my own fault. Haymitch's words come back to me: "Remember who the enemy is." Perhaps I'm my own worst enemy.

"I've been working on a surprise for you," says Gale. "It's not quite finished." He proudly holds up a beautifully carved prosthetic arm. "It should hold a bow. I've articulated the fingers and wrist. Do you want to try it and see if it fits?"

"Or we could use it for firewood." I instantly regret this cruel remark. Gale has worked so hard and he looks as if I have slapped him. My mother's hand is on his shoulder. "Let's give Katniss some time alone, shall we?" she murmurs.

I turn my back to them and weep bitterly.

Later that morning, Prim brings me some clear broth. She spoons it carefully into my mouth and I allow her to baby me even though my right arm is perfectly fine. My head aches, but my wits are returning. Prim chatters on about our camp, but I can tell she is avoiding certain topics. Our camp is an abandoned tract housing development not more than 50k from the arena. Skeletons of partially finished homes in varying states of decay dot an idyllic landscape. My room has graffiti on the bare plywood walls. The roof is missing, halfway open to the sky.

There's a knock on the door.

"Are we invited to this pity party?" It's Haymitch and Finnick. I've fallen into such a black mood I say nothing.

"You said you wanted a revolution, Katniss. I should have taken you seriously." Haymitch pulls up a chair and pulls out his flask.

I nearly choke on my soup. "So it's begun? How do we get word to the districts? How do we let them know the revolution has started?"

Finnick laughs. "Your arrow sent that message loud and clear. If they didn't already know, it's unmistakable now."

"You took out the entire power grid, Sweetheart," Haymitch explains. "Essentially sent us all back to the stone age."

I imagine the folks back home, gathered around their TV sets to watch the Games. I shoot that final arrow and everything goes black. I gasp. "Is that a good thing?"

"Well, it's leveled the playing field. It took away much of Snow's advantage and weakened his stronghold in a way we could never have achieved before. But the war has just begun."

"Why didn't you tell me the plan, Haymitch? Didn't you take a risk that I wouldn't figure it out? What if I hadn't shot that arrow?"

"We were afraid that Snow would capture and torture you and Peeta. The less you knew, the better. It was for your own protection, really. And as usual, you far surpassed our expectations. I'm not sure our original plan would have worked, but the arrow was brilliant. You've shut down the entire continent, maybe the whole northern hemisphere. And now we'd like to include you in our plans as a courtesy. I'm told you need to stay here and convalesce, but I will keep you apprised of our battle plans. Snow's army has attacked District 13."

I think of Bonnie and Twill, the refugees that I met on their way to the Promised Land of District 13. I hope they are all right.

"If Snow attains nuclear capabilities, he will bring us to our knees. We're massing troops west of District 13. I need every available fighter. I understand that you cannot fight … especially in your condition."

I wonder just how I could fight. A one-armed archer is useless. And then I realize he's talking about my alleged pregnancy.

"There is no baby. Peeta concocted the marriage/baby story to illicit sympathy." From the corner of my eye, I can see Gale standing in the doorway.

"Ah. Very effective." Haymitch grins. "I'd also like to remind you that Peeta lost a leg and it was barely even a setback. He went on to survive the Quarter Quell."

"Yes," I sputter. "But he's … Peeta!" I can't think of any other reason that this should be relevant. "And besides, where is he anyway?"

"We thought you'd never ask. He and Enobaria still had their trackers. They've been taken prisoner. We suspect they are being held in the Capitol. Snow will probably torture them until he is convinced that they don't have any information to give. This is precisely why you were kept uninformed."

"Will they kill him?"

"No, I imagine they will keep Peeta alive as leverage against you, Katniss."

"We have to rescue him."

"No. That's exactly what they want you to do. It's too risky. And Peeta's not a priority. Sorry, Sweetheart. He's just not."

"He's a priority to me!" A year ago, I would have shot that flask right out of his hand. Now I'm seriously considering throwing the bowl of broth in his direction. But I don't. Either I'm maturing, or I realize it's not going to help Peeta.

"We are taking Beetee with us, even though he's in worse shape than you are," Haymitch continues. "We need his scientific expertise. And I want to bring your mother and Prim as we are sure to suffer heavy casualties and they are the extent of our medical team. I need every available soldier, but someone less vital can stay behind with you."

"I'd like to volunteer to stay with Katniss," Gale says.

"Oh, I'll bet you would," Haymitch says slyly and I'm tempted again to pitch the bowl at him. "But I think Katniss can probably feed herself soup. You're a good fighter, Gale. We need you at the front."

"Look, Katniss can barely sit up and you are leaving her defenseless. You went to all this trouble to rescue her and now you just abandon her? Take everyone else, just leave me here with her," Gale is trying to hide the emotion in his voice.

"Ah, young love. That's so touching. I just can't figure you out, Sweetheart." Haymitch taunts me, shaking his head.

So much for self-control: I let the soup bowl fly and it shatters on the wall behind him.

"Fine. Stay here. But stay out of trouble. Like it or not, you are the poster child for this revolution and we need you to stay alive. Unless you'd rather be a martyr."

Prim cleans up the broken shards. As soon as they all leave the room, I search through the blankets for the prosthetic arm. I fumble with my bandages, unwinding them, and fit the arm into place. Perfection.

"I don't think you should wear it until you are completely healed," Gale says, but I can tell he's pleased that I have accepted his gift.

"We're going to rescue Peeta," I announce.

"I know," says Gale.

"So you'll help me?"

"Of course. I owe him that. I know that the three of you stood up to the Peacekeepers and saved my life. I already have a plan."

Gale salvaged several Peacekeeper uniforms. The bullet holes are barely noticeable and Hazelle managed to wash out the bloodstains.

"That works for you, but I'll be recognized. No one would believe I'm a Peacekeeper."  
So he brings out the Avox costume that he wore to infiltrate the Capitol during the Quarter Quell.

"Now THAT they'd believe," I say sadly. "But it will be huge on me."

"I'll have my mom alter it before she leaves for District 13. There's only one problem with this plan: you'll have to keep your mouth shut," he teases. "Seriously, you just have to remain silent and do all the work and you'll be surprised how they ignore you. It's like a cloak of invisibility. They can't talk to you even if they want to." How well I know this.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Hazelle hastily alters the costume, keeping me company while she sews. Posy is coloring pictures on the floor. When she's finished with the costume, she cuts the excess fabric into bandages. I borrow her scissors to cut a bud that is sprouting from the fingertip of my new prosthetic. Gale shouldn't have used such green wood. I'd swear I feel a tingling in that finger, but I know my mind is playing tricks on me again. I doze off, still woozy from my head injury.

I'm not sure what causes me to wake – perhaps a sixth sense for danger honed by my time in the games. I'm alone in the room but the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. I ease to a sitting position and silently palm Hazelle's scissors from the nightstand. Struggling to control my breathing, I survey the room. Nothing. I squint up at the late afternoon sun filtering through the bare rafters of the unfinished tract house. Tattered sheets of plastic hang where walls were once planned. And I spot it just before it pounces.

Spawned directly from my nightmares, a spider the size of a chimpanzee lands soundlessly on my bed, mandibles spread.

I slash and stab the creature's gelatinous eyes again and again. I'm not even aware that I am screaming until Gale appears and finishes it off with his knife. Gale tries to calm me but I'm badly shaken.

"So you're afraid of eensie-beensie spiders, Catnip?

"This is like something from the Games, Gale. What is it doing in the real world?" I'm shuddering, cowering at the top of my bed.

He examines the carcass, turning it over and pushing it with the toe of his shoe. Clearly, the head and body are mechanical, but the legs are muscular and meaty.

"Just get rid of it, Gale," I plead.

"Now just hold on a minute. I haven't caught anything in my traps in days. They took all the provisions with the troops. What do you say we see how this thing tastes?"

"You've got to be kidding me. It's genetically altered. And it has opposable thumbs."

"Eight of them, to be exact, and I'd call them opposable claws," he says ignoring my protests. But he at least has the decency to butcher and cook it elsewhere.

"Dinner time," he wakes me up later with a bowl of the nastiest smelling stew. A generous helping of wild onions is not enough to disguise the pungent odor. It's hard to believe, but the flavor is even worse. The meat is gamey and sharp, tough with gristle. But since it is all we have, I try my best not to complain.

We have dubbed the creature EBS for eensie-beensie spider. Its meat seems to last forever. When I finally complain about another EBS meal, Gale levels with me. Since I had been so squeamish, he felt the need to protect me from the truth: He has killed dozens of these monsters and has seen almost nothing else. This area is infested with the beasts, but at least they are edible.

From that night on, I refuse to sleep alone and Gale is happy to accommodate me. I rest safely in his arms, although sometimes late at night, I still eye the ghostly plastic sheets that hang from the rafters of the upper story.

One night, the sky has an odd glow, like a distant lightning storm or the aurora borealis. I can make out images flickering in the clouds, reminding me of a technique they used to inform us of the day's casualties in the Hunger Games. Only this time, the reception is bad. Static, distorted faces, and little blips of garbled words don't make sense.

"Gale, " I whisper. "Wake up. Look."

We watch the sky through the missing areas of our roof. "What does it mean?"

"It doesn't mean anything. Nothing means anything anymore. It's just random nerves firing in a system that's dead… like a chicken with its head cut off." He sighs.

I breathe in the warm scent of his skin, wishing our time together could last forever. My prosthetic arm is resting on his chest. If I concentrate hard enough, I can make one of the fingers twitch slightly in the moonlight.

"Gale, look! I can move my finger! I can't explain it, but..." He gives my hand a squeeze and I swear I can feel it. He holds my fingertips to his lips and kisses them. Then he tenderly kisses my lips.

"Oh, Gale. I wish we had run away. This is what it could have been like."

"I always imagined the food would be better," he laughs. "We could still do it, you know. This could be our home. Marry me, Katniss."

"I can't, Gale."

"We can still rescue Peeta. I'd do anything for you. I love you. Just say you love me too."

"You don't understand, Gale. I don't want to marry because I don't want to have children. I can't bear the thought of sending them to the reaping each year. That's more pain than I can even imagine."

"I worry about that, too. But what if things change? What if the revolution is successful?"

"Then ask me again."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Gale is quiet at our pre-dawn breakfast. I wonder if he is sulking because I refused his proposal. Maybe he is just as sad as I am to see our time alone coming to an end. There's no denying that I am strong enough now to carry out our rescue plan.

We break camp and hike to the broken down delivery truck that we used in our escape from the arena. They would have taken it to District 13 if it had been useful, but it has engine problems. We both struggle to pull it from the ditch and then Gale shows me how to steer. "Is this driving?" I ask and he just grunts, pushing it toward the railroad crossing. The asphalt is pock-marked with age and the wheels get stuck in potholes. "Steer around them, Katniss," Gale says with exasperation. Just before daybreak we reach the old railroad crossing and both of us struggle to wedge it into place across the tracks. We are sweaty and exhausted, but we hurry up the tracks to the tunnel where we change into our costumes and wait.

The power outage interrupted the high-speed rail service that I rode as a tribute, so the old diesel or steam engines are back in use. Low tech rules. The next train along these tracks is an old-fashioned passenger train. Sure enough, the train stops just long enough so the employees can remove the barricade. A quick search of the area convinces them that someone abandoned the truck after running out of gas. The train starts back up the hill, but reaches the tunnel long before regaining full speed. We're waiting in the darkness to catch on to the side. It's terrifying. The walls of the tunnel are so close and we're moving so fast. Gale shouts something, but his voice is lost in the sheer velocity. We inch down to the platform at the back of the caboose and climb on. Still hidden by the darkness of the tunnel, the plan is to climb to the roof, but all too soon we're through it, into the light of day. The conductor sees us, opens the door and pulls us in. I expect him to turn us in, but he recognizes me and flashes a mockingjay sign. He waves us through to the next compartment.

We stand at the back of the car, hoping to go unnoticed. A woman catches sight of me and lets out a small cry. Knowledge of my presence spreads through the train car like a silent current: whispers, nudges to the ribs, gasps and shocked glances. Someone begins to cry. I had forgotten that there was so much genuine affection for me. As we approach the station, one brave but foolish passenger attempts to free me. He tries to overpower Gale and wrestle him away from me.

"Wait! He's with me!" I shout. My eyes widen with horror as I realize I've blown my cover. I slap my hands over my mouth, but it's too late. There is a stunned silence and then laughter. This whole train car is filled with sympathizers and I decide we will have to trust them.

"We're trying to rescue Peeta. Can anyone help us?"

"Aww … " the women croon. I have appealed to their romantic nature.

"Yes, but if you're going to be a convincing Avox, you'll have to keep quiet," a well-to-do woman with rainbow-colored braids answers me. There is more laughter.

Daphne Abercrombie takes me on as her new Avox. I carry her very heavy suitcases from the train station to a waiting cab. Gale follows uncertainly.

"Well, come on…" she says to him. No one questions her or even gives her a second glance.

The cab winds through the streets of the Capitol toward a huge house on a hill. The loud hum of generators is the only change since I was last here. The cab driver flips open the trunk and I'm left to struggle with her luggage again. Gale fights the urge to help me until the cabbie drives away. When we are safely inside her mansion – no other word can properly convey its grandeur – she touches her lips with her finger, signaling us to remain silent. Snow must monitor the houses of the rich and powerful, too. She turns on some loud classical music and leads us down to a wine cellar. Opening the front of a large wooden cask, she signals us to crawl inside. I balk at the idea of being closed in such a small space, but it's merely a disguise for a doorway to a tunnel. We crawl through to a slightly larger area and wait in the darkness. A short time later, she returns with flashlights, sandwiches and two cans of Coke.

"Keep your voices down, but you are safe in here. This tunnel runs under the entire city. Keep to the left and you will reach a meeting room. Wait there. Rebel forces will gather there to help form a plan."

"Thank you," I whisper, but she's already gone. The cask door locks shut with a click.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The tunnel isn't tall enough to stand up in, so we crouch on the dirt floor and enjoy the first non-EBS meal we've had in days. Gale opens one of the Coke cans with a loud pop and takes a swig. "Mmm. Try this," He whispers and hands the can to me. I drink some of the sweet bubbly soda. I've never tried it before. It gives me hiccups, which makes me giggle. Gale is trying to make me be quiet when I notice that I am holding the Coke can in my left hand. "Look, Gale! My hand…" I whisper. It takes him a moment to understand and then he shares my joy. I'm giddy with excitement because my prosthetic hand actually works!

After our picnic, we start our journey. The tunnel is so small in some spots that I must crawl on my hands and knees and Gale pulls through on his elbows. I'm afraid he'll get stuck. Other areas are almost tall enough for me to stand up. Whenever we meet a crossroad, we keep to the left. By late morning, we reach a large basement room. This must be it, but no one is there. So we wait. Switching off our flashlights to save batteries, we get comfortable on the floor. Gale puts his arm around me and kisses the top of my head. I lean against his shoulder. Exhausted from our night's adventure, we fall sound asleep.

We don't even hear them come in. When I finally open my eyes, it's standing room only. Lantern light casts human shadows on the walls making the crowd seem even larger. If we are among friends, the cold reception puzzles me. Suddenly, I understand. Gale's arms are wrapped lovingly around me. And this crowd is definitely team Peeta.

Worried that I have alienated our allies, I sit up briskly and shrug off Gale's embrace. He's still asleep. "Gale," I shake his shoulder. "Everyone – I want you to meet my cousin, Gale." He looks sleepy and confused. He starts to speak, but thinks better of it. I can tell he's angry. I'm angry, too. Once again, popular opinion must dictate my personal affairs.

A murmur of understanding passes through the room, but some of the women still regard me with suspicion. Peeta has quite a fan club.

Plutarch Heavensbee calls the meeting to order.

"Welcome, Katniss and Gale. You've come at a good time. Most of the armed forces are fighting in District 13, but it is still safer to assume that everyone in the Capitol is an enemy until they prove otherwise. We can't risk another incident like the one on the train. Trust no one but the people in this room."

I nod, and survey the room for familiar faces. Darius. The red-haired Avox. Portia catches my eye and I raise my eyebrows ever so slightly. She shakes her head sadly. I already knew the answer: Cinna is dead.

"It is doubtful that we can free the prisoners without inciting a full-scale uprising. We knew this day would come. It is time to stand up and fight," Plutarch continues.

"We have been stockpiling weapons. Please arm yourself according to your level of expertise. Take only what you need. I will organize a squadron of volunteers to burn down Snow's mansion as a diversion. I will discuss other possible targets with our bomb squad. We need snipers to take out known loyalists, and another patrol to blockade the road out-of-town. Nestor has infiltrated the Peacekeepers and will accompany Katniss and Gale to the prison. We attack tonight. Via con Dios, people."

The room erupts into hushed but excited chatter and they bring in a lavish spread of food – the sort of banquet you can only find in the Capitol. Eat hearty, I think. This could be your last good meal for a while. I look around for Gale. He's already chewing. I load up a plate with lamb stew. It's just as good as I remember. A woman with flames painted in her hair corners me. "How do you like the lamb stew? I made it because I know it's your favorite." I nod and smile with my mouth full. "Katniss, could I have your autograph?" she asks. I'm flattered of course, and a little flustered, but I take her pen and write "Katniss Everdeen" in my best curly script. She smiles and disappears back into the crowd.

I'm suddenly filled with doubt and paranoia. What if she only wanted proof that she had seen me alive? She could be on her way to Snow right now. What if she poisoned the lamb stew? Everyone knows it's my favorite. I drop my fork and look around to see if anyone else is eating lamb stew. In a panic, I dump the whole plate in a trash bin. Calm down. I need Gale's reassurance but he's in line for seconds.

The red-haired Avox approaches me shyly. Her tears restore my trust. She opens her arms and hugs me and I feel better. "I don't know your name. Would you write it for me?" I hand her the lamb stew lady's pen and she writes "Cleo" on her own hand. She makes an odd guttural sound and blushes. It's all she can do.

Darius gives me a hug, too.

"Hey – I'm so sorry," I start. "I heard what you did for Gale. I'll never forget it, Darius." He nods, tears in his eyes. I'm going to miss the way he used to tease me.

An awkward silence follows so I excuse myself and make my way over to the rather impressive arsenal they've accumulated. The bomb squad is choosing from grenades, rocket launchers, and various homemade explosives that don't look stable enough for these close confines. The cache of weapons includes guns of every caliber and ample ammunition. Knives and swords are another popular choice. I'm reminded of the cornucopia in the Games. Sure enough, there is a bow and a quiver of arrows, no doubt for me. A thrill runs through me as I close my new hand around the bow. Gale meets my eyes and smiles. I feel stronger already. My weapon of choice seems very primitive compared to all this firepower, but I've already proven what one arrow can do.

Plutarch is going over the logistics with each of his teams. I wonder how prepared any of these "pastelheads" are for the battle ahead. The need for precise timing makes me think wistfully of Effie, so I ask Portia about her. She's vague and evasive. "Some people are with you in spirit, but they may feel they have too much to lose. It requires a lot of courage to stand up to the status quo. Don't take it personally.

Nestor has been assigned to help us reach Peeta's prison cell. He clears his throat nervously. "I'm not sure how to warn you, but you will not like what you find."

I swallow hard. "We are well acquainted with Snow's brutality," I say.

"I did my best to protect him, but I couldn't raise suspicions. Just – well – brace yourself."

With that ominous warning, we prepare for battle. Nestor insists that Gale take a military issue handgun even though he's never fired one before. "It's part of the Peacekeeper uniform. I'll show you how it works." Gale acquiesces, but seems more comfortable helping himself to the knives.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

By nightfall, the orange of the sunset is replaced with the orange of flames and explosions. Nestor leads us in zigzags through the darkened streets while mortar shells whistle overhead. When we reach the jailhouse, a distant skyscraper collapses and the earth shakes. We hide outside while Nestor goes through the security checkpoint.

"What are you doing here, Nestor?" The guard asks. "They've called all units. There's an uprising near the President's house."

"I know. I'm here to relieve the guards. Just following orders."

The guard opens his mouth to protest and Nestor shoots him twice in the chest. He then turns and shoots out the security camera. Reaching through the broken glass of the security booth, he pushes a buzzer and waves us in. We work our way silently down the dark halls to a heavily fortified door. Nestor punches in a security code and we burst through the door to a hail of gunfire. I duck back behind the door while Nestor takes out two of the guards. A bullet catches him in the temple and he crumples to the floor. I fumble with my bow and arrow feeling clumsy and impotent. My arrow deflects harmlessly off the wall as Gale shoots the last guard.

We step over the bodies, afraid of what we will find inside the cell. Peeta is lying on a cot. At least I'm fairly certain it's Peeta. His face is so swollen with cuts and bruises he is almost unrecognizable. But I'd know those blue eyes anywhere. "Katniss," he croaks. I reach through the bars to hold his left hand. It is missing the three middle fingers.

"The salute?" I breathe.

"For Enobaria. It was stupid, I know. They executed her."

"It's just like you to have to make your point."

He smiles, but I can tell it hurts. Gale is fumbling through drawers looking for a key. "Try their pockets," I suggest. Gale unlocks the cell and Peeta and I embrace and kiss. Gale looks down and then pretends to busy himself collecting weapons. I inspect Peeta's wounds.

"I'm just so glad I didn't have any information to give up."

Damn Haymitch. I wonder if he'd be in better shape if he had. Gale's dexterity is better than mine, so he cuts out Peeta's tracker with his knife and tears up the guard uniforms for bandages.

"Let's go."

"They confiscated my leg. I guess they thought I'd use it as a weapon."

"Never mind."

Peeta leans on us and we half drag/half carry him down the hallways. The front door is locked and Gale swears under his breath. He throws a chair through an office window and clears away the glass so we can climb through. A thick layer of ice coats everything. The door must have been frozen shut.

We slip helplessly on the clear glaze, unable to move because it's so slick. Fires still blaze on all sides and explosions send sparks bouncing across the ice. I try to get up, but my feet slip right out from under me. Sprawled on my belly, I catch a glimpse of a tattooed face entombed below the surface. I gasp and look deeper. Sparks light other areas and I can make out more twisted bodies – faces contorted in grotesque, paralyzed screams. I pound the ice with my fist.

"You can't help them. You can't," Gale pulls me away and I hide my face in his shoulder.

We don't even hear the hovercraft overhead. The ladder drops, paralyzing the three of us in its grasp. Once on board, we can see Plutarch at the controls.

"Funny weather we're having," I say.

"Ah yes, that. It's a liquid nitrogen derivative we were perfecting for the Games. I don't know who released it on the masses. I only hope…" His voice trails off ominously and I don't have the heart to ask about his concerns.

"You three are the last I could find. We've got to get out of here."

I look around at the other survivors. There are about 30 pastelheads, shell-shocked and trembling. Some stare numbly out the windows, others weep as they watch their city burn.

Hatred and resentment boils up in my chest. "See? Violence isn't nearly as much fun when it escapes your TV screen," I think in anger. None of these pastelheads have ever known the suffering of the districts or the terror of the Hunger Games. "Welcome to my nightmare," I mutter uncharitably.

And yet, I know I'm not really being fair. They've risked their lives for Peeta and me. It's touching, really. It's easy to fight when you have nothing. In a way, they are braver and nobler for giving up so much. I know they will have regrets.

I turn to Plutarch. "Did we win? Did we kill Snow?"

Before he can answer, a jolt sends the craft veering sideways.

"We've been hit!" Plutarch shouts. "Buckle up, people, this is it!"

The hovercraft lurches and dives, spiraling to the ground, smoke streaming behind it. We hit a mass of trees, tip sideways and fall a bit further. The craft finally hits ground and smoke fills the interior. We file out, dazed and coughing, helping the wounded to the ground. There are three casualties. We arrange their bodies at the controls and hope Snow will be fooled into thinking they were the only ones on board. Whoever shot us down is bound to come looking for us. Covering our footsteps, we hike up river from the crash site until we reach a dilapidated bridge support. The undergrowth is so dense, we decide it is a safe place to set up camp.

Heavy smoke from the Capitol means a campfire does not pose a risk. Gale hunts down an EBS, butchers it and roasts it on the fire. The smoky stench settles over the camp and I think longingly of the lamb stew that I threw into the trash.

"What is this?" Plutarch asks. "Are you sure it's edible?"

"Edible, yes. Palatable-no. Katniss and I call them EBS, short for eensie beensie spiders. These beasts have wiped out all the other game in the area. They'd like to work on humans next, so watch out."

"Not if we eat them first." I laugh.

"That's easier said than done," says Plutarch. "So this is really the only game available?"

"I've seen an occasional Mockingjay, but that's it."

"Oh, this is worse than I thought," says Plutarch. "These creatures appear to be directly descended from one of our props for the Hunger Games. They were never supposed to be released into the wild. I fear there may be more nasty surprises in store for us," Plutarch sadly shakes his head. "My God, what have I done?"

I make a broth from the EBS for Peeta and coax him to take a spoonful.

"Gah," he says, nose wrinkled. "Is it medicine?"

"No, silly, it's dinner."

"Well I think it's gone bad."

"Nope. It's today's catch. It doesn't get any better than this."

Plutarch isn't eating either. "I'd have to get a great deal hungrier before I'd eat this vile stuff."

"Don't worry - you will," I think.

He notices my amused smirk and says, "The irony is not lost on me, young lady."

He's examining the weird, lush undergrowth. "None of this appears to be native. I recognize some genetic characteristics from plants we designed for the Games. They must be mutating, too. Even our botanical designs have gone rogue. Don't eat anything until we've tested it for safety."

"Testing for safety" has a reassuring clinical sound when in fact it involves test subjects – or guinea pigs. The next morning, Plutarch asks for volunteers.

"Now I want you to understand: this is not a Sunday potluck dinner. You're risking your lives for the good of the group."

Several of the pastelheads volunteer. The first step is to identify plants that are in abundant supply. Nearly everything qualifies. Each volunteer has pulp from an assigned a plant applied to his or her inner elbow. Then we wait and watch for reactions. Tomorrow, we will try a small amount under their tongues.

"What about the long-term side effects of eating genetically modified foods?" one of the pastelheads asks.

"Long term, I can't tell you. But I do know the short-term side effects of starvation ... that will kill you in about 3 weeks."

Cleo, the red-haired Avox volunteers for the food trials. Plutarch decides her butchered tongue doesn't disqualify her. Apparently, they also cut an Avox's vocal chords. I shiver. Her assigned food is a small shellfish that has infested the local ponds. Cleo shows no sensitivity on her inner arm, so the next step is to try a small amount under her tongue. Perhaps she misunderstands, because she swallows it whole. "Oh well, that was the next step," sighs Plutarch.

Later, we find her waist deep in a pond, eating the shellfish hand over fist. Either they are delicious or they are addictive, maybe both. Florescent spittle drips from her chin. The oddest side effect is the sound her breath makes: weird static crackles like a radio flipping across a dial every time she exhales. She doesn't seem to notice, but it would drive me mad. No one else is willing to risk eating the shellfish and we withhold it from consideration as a food source. The side effects are too severe. Peeta takes copious notes complete with illustrations.

Cleo's white noise continues even while she sleeps and it's so annoying to me, I can't sleep. I don't want to hurt her feelings, so I lie awake and listen to her drone on. When the skies light up with another one of the flickering Hunger Games-style picture shows, it's as if Cleo's radio dial is suddenly tuned to a station. I shake Gale and Peeta awake and we listen to snatches of an oddly familiar voice each time she exhales: "reactor meltdown … nuclear tornados … shutdown in progress."

Cleo must be picking up on an enemy transmission from District 13. The sky goes dark and her breath becomes garbled again.

Reactor meltdown? Nuclear tornados? A chill runs through my soul. Mom. Prim. How could anyone survive this? I cry myself to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Early the next morning, I'm still dozing with the sun shining in my eyes. Through the veil of my lashes, I can make out the silhouettes of two people watching me. I'm instantly alert, bow loaded and aimed.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa - Katniss. They're just kids," says Gale.

I lower my bow.

"Two tours of duty will make you a bit jumpy," Peeta defends me.

The smaller child throws a clod of dirt at my feet and makes an explosion sound in the back of his throat. "Calib – don't," the big sister says.

They are the dirtiest children I have ever seen. Grubby with soot and dust, they are almost indistinguishable from the surrounding landscape. A sheen of snot runs from Calib's nose to lips.

They are staring back at us, fascinated by the candy colored fashions of the Capitol defectors.

"You look like flowers," the girl says.

"Which district are you from?" Peeta asks.

"We're Mericans."

"Can you take us to your family?" I coax, and she nods.

A small group of us follow them along the river to the burnt-out ruins of an old mining town filled with rubble, broken glass and charred vehicles. The words "& Sons" is painted in old-fashioned letters on a partially demolished brick wall. Leaning haphazardly against it is a warped piece of corrugated metal. Pulling it aside, the children lead us down some concrete stairs.

"Ma," the girl shouts. "Some people to see you."

A middle-aged woman crouched by a fire springs up, shotgun in hand. She eyes us suspiciously, especially the garishly dressed among us. We stare back, our hands raised, amazed at the squalor before us.

"Minty!" the woman shouts. "Go get Minty," she tells the children. The click of a gun cocking lets us know Minty has arrived. His name, as far as I can tell, is meant to be ironic. He reeks. He must not bathe. Ever.

"We don't mean to hurt you." Gale explains. "We've escaped from the Capitol. There was an uprising last night and…"

"We heard the explosions," says Minty. "What are you trying to do?

"To overthrow the government; to oust President Snow."

"Snow's still your president?" Minty chuckles, and lowers his gun. "That old bastard's been around as long as I can remember."

"So you don't consider him to be your president?"

"Aw, hell no. You think we'd let some knucklehead tell us what to do? Hell no. We're Mericans."

"Mericans? Like from the old United States?"

Minty laughs. "Some. But from what was Canada and Mexico, too. There are thousands of us living underground in every burnt out city on the continent."

"And Snow just leaves you alone?"

"He doesn't know we're here. It's a big country. They can't surveille every square inch. They're too busy intimidating the prison camps. We're very well camouflaged and we keep to ourselves. But they did catch my uncle. Killed him outright. That never did sit too well with me."

"What's your story?" Minty asks.

When Gale explains that we are from District 12, Minty gives him a blank look and then understands. "Oh - the prison camps! That's what we call them."

"So you knew we were there? Why didn't you help us?"

"They would have just thrown us in, too. The last uprising proved unsuccessful."

I suppose this makes sense.

"And you don't know who I am?" I ask.

"No," he says squinting at me. "Why should I?"

We try to explain the Hunger Games to people who have no electricity or television. It's harder than I thought.

"Kids killing kids? That's indefensible. What kind of monsters do you have running your country?" Minty is incredulous.

"And you let them do that? Take your kids?" His wife is shaking her head in disbelief.

"Buncha government propaganda, I suppose," Minty mutters.

It's hard to defend. It shatters my beliefs. I've grown up believing every lie the Capitol told us. I fell dizzy and breathless, but giddy with hope.

"Our camp is about 2 kilometers away. Will you come and join us?"

"You all would be much safer here. And they made you go metric? Damn."

"There are 30 of us. We don't want to put you out."

But Minty insists and our troops join the camp for a feast of EBS meat plus some new treats that the Mericans have deemed safe.

The night's entertainment is a skit by the Seinfeld players about the etiquette of buying soup. I laugh so hard, and think wistfully of Greasy Sae. How she would have loved this play! Next, there is a jam session. Almost everyone plays an instrument. I teach them a song that I know and try to learn theirs. There is dancing wherever couples can find room.

Peeta interrupts the festivities with a speech. Actually, it's more of a plea for the Mericans to help us overthrow Snow.

"We are assembling an army to overthrow President Snow's brutal regime and return control of this continent to the citizens. Those of us who have suffered in the districts – or prison camps as you refer to them here – know first hand the pain of losing loved ones to the horrific tradition of the Hunger Games. For too long, we have been oppressed by a maniacal despot, a man who thinks nothing of sacrificing the lives of children in the name of entertainment. He has confiscated the wealth of this nation to support the wasteful and extravagant lifestyle of the Capitol, leaving the rest of the country to starve in abject poverty. But their graft and gluttony will be their undoing. With help from our brave rebel friends, we have triumphed, destroying the Capitol. A battle is currently raging in District 13 for control of nuclear arms. It is time for us to band together to conquer Snow and his evil cronies. We have never been closer, but we need your help. Imagine not having to hide, to live without fear of retribution from the Capitol. Let us fight now for the chance to live in peace."

Without any reservations, the Mericans agree to fight. "So it's settled. We will begin training tomorrow. Enjoy the party."

The Mericans have fitted Peeta with a metal blade-like prosthetic that allows him to run. It belonged to an athlete from the old days. "Look Katniss. I bet I can even dance!" He takes my hand and spins me around in one of the crazy dances from the Seam. Then he whirls me back in close and dips me. I tip my head back and laugh until I catch a glimpse of Gale brooding in the shadows.

The Mericans dance and sing far into the night, but I'm exhausted. Tactfully, I decline their offer of lodging. The air indoors is heavy with body odor, smoke and the smell of EBS meat. "I'm sure I'd rather sleep under the stars - but thank you," I say, and many of our party are quick to agree. The stench seems to coat my nostrils, and I can smell it long after we leave the hall. It's like we've marinated in it until it clings to our clothing and skin. The next morning, I wake up early to bathe in the river. I wash my clothing and sunbathe on a boulder. I'm back in my Quarter Quell underwear set when Gale joins me.  
I braid my hair while he washes up. Gale sits down beside me on the boulder and gives my braid a playful tug. "I'm not giving up this time, Catnip." He tucks a dandelion in my hair. I sigh. Dandelions always remind me of a time long ago, when Peeta risked a beating to bring me bread and hope. I look away.

"You know, you should probably take that thing off now & then." He's looking at my prosthetic. I nod, but I can't bear to tell him the truth. I can't remove it; it's fused in place.

"What kind of wood did you use for it, anyway?' I ask. "It doesn't look familiar."

"You know, I'm not even sure. I'd never seen a tree like that before."

My heart sinks as I think of Plutarch's words.

"Look who's feeling better," I say as Peeta joins us on the rocks. "Look Katniss. Some people have freckles, but you have wood grain." He's tracing the pattern on my arm.

I tell him that it's a prosthetic arm and fill him in on the story behind it.

"Very realistic," he says approvingly. "Maybe Gale would carve new fingers for me."

As they discuss this possibility, I finish dressing. Examining the juncture between wood and flesh, I note that the wood grain pattern now extends beyond my elbow to my upper arm. I shrug off any significance.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

After breakfast, we report for Boot Camp. We pool our resources and knowledge, starting with a camouflage workshop. Though the Mericans are the undisputed experts in this field, it is also one of Peeta's strengths.

Minty gives a random presentation of camouflage tips.

"Never walk on top of a ridge. Your silhouette against the sky makes you an easy target. We do our best to blend in to our surroundings. Skin and clothing should mimic the landscape and mottled shades break up the outlines of your body. Never wear anything bright or colorful or use anything reflective. Stick to the tree cover; avoid open expanses. If you suspect a flyover, freeze in place. Movement makes you easier to spot.

Peeta convinces the Capitol defectors to shave off their lavish, flamboyant hairstyles as a show of loyalty to the resistance. "It also makes you an easy target," he reasons. The children gather the colorful fluff to play with. Plutarch is evasive and resists a makeover. Finally, he admits that he wears a lavender toupee. He is completely bald underneath. "You just saved us the trouble," Peeta laughs.

"Next you'll be forcing me to rub dirt on my face," scowls Plutarch.

The pastelheads were brave and tough enough to have survived their first battle, but they lack any real skills or training. We have our work cut out for us.

We had been presumptuous, however, to think we needed to train the Mericans. They could show us a trick or two. They are tough hombres, a well-armed militia, and once again I am embarrassed by my archaic bow and arrow - arrows I can no longer shoot to save my life. Gale even has the nerve to suggest I learn to shoot a gun. The Mericans offer a firearms training program at a makeshift shooting range, but I stubbornly stick to archery.

I practice in a nearby field, but I spend more time retrieving stray arrows than pulling them from the target. It's frustrating, but I keep trying.

Peeta offers to teach some of the soldiers the finer points of hand-to-hand combat. He asks for a volunteer, but chooses Gale. They circle each other, boxing, and end up punching each other, wrestling on the ground. The fight escalates and a crowd gathers, egging them on. When I can finally push my way through I shout, "Stop it! Stop it! This is supposed to teach them what? Gale? Peeta?"

Properly admonished, they back down. Peeta's nose is bleeding; Gale has a black eye.

"I know what this is about. And believe me, if I had to choose right now, none of us would be happy. Now get back to work, we have a battle to prepare for." I turn on my heel and storm off. Their rivalry is getting out of control, and I know it's my own fault.

In spite of this transgression, Peeta has emerged as a clear leader. Even Plutarch has to admit that Peeta inspires the crowds. That has always been his gift. I can't help but feel proud. He is also a favorite among the Mericans, winning them over almost immediately.

Peeta's wounds are healing nicely. The scars suit him somehow, adding character to his face. The boyish softness is gone. He looks manly, older … undeniably, ruggedly handsome. I catch myself staring and look away. How can I possibly choose?

Gale and Peeta arrange their blankets on either side of me each night, ostensibly to protect me, but I suspect from each other. Just before dawn, a lone traitor creeps silently between the sleeping soldiers' bodies. He wraps a wire around Peeta's neck and pulls it tight, choking him. I wake to find Peeta struggling and kicking. Before I can do anything to help, I see Gale take aim with his hunting knife. He lets it fly, but I could swear I saw the slightest hesitation first. The assailant is mortally wounded, bleeding from his neck. Peeta gasps for air. He can't speak. I kneel beside him, unwrapping the wire.

"When all is said and done, I've got your back, Buddy," says Gale.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

I'm keeping watch from a hill above the valley when Peeta joins me. We gaze over the Eden-like setting and he laces the fingers of his good hand through mine. "It's just burnt-out rubble for now, Katniss. But when the war is over, we'll build houses here. Hell, a whole town." His voice is strained and hoarse from last night's attack. "It will be a good place for families, a place to raise children." I'm touched by his utopian vision for the future, but I doubt it's one I'll ever see. I look away and blink back tears.

"You know, Gale's all right. I didn't think so at first. But he's saved my life twice now. He's a good guy." Peeta chatters on, not noticing my distraction.

That night, Cleo intercepts another message intended for Snow. I am about to doze off when I hear her static lock into the transmission. It's frightening how close I came to sleeping through it. "Total devastation in 13 … 7 hostages en route to NORAD… reactor shutdown complete." I try my best to stay awake in case there are any more messages, but I wake after sunrise. I tell the others at breakfast.

"What does it mean?" I ask Plutarch. "Who would the hostages be?"

His grim expression tells me all I need to know. Snow excels at finding his enemies' weakness. The hostages are those nearest and dearest to our hearts.

"In a way, that's good news, right? I had assumed my family was dead. Now there is a good chance we can rescue them." I catch myself staring at Peeta's mutilated hand and wondering what torture Snow is inflicting on our loved ones. He notices and smiles at me reassuringly.

"Looks like we need to step up this timetable," he says.

"So Plutarch, who do you think shot us down that night?" I ask.

"I can't be sure, but I assume it was Snow and his henchmen."

"But we destroyed the Capitol. If Snow escaped, where would he go?"

"It sounds like he's hiding out in the old NORAD installation, not far from here."

"Well, if you know where he is, let's go! This isn't over until we get Snow and I want to be the one to kill him," I say.

"You're cute when you're bloodthirsty," laughs Plutarch.

"Don't patronize me. I'm serious."

"So am I. Attacking NORAD could prove impossible. This bunker was built into the side of Cheyenne Mountain in the 20th century during something called the Cold War. It's meant to withstand a nuclear attack and we have arrows and handguns. No offense."

I blush, wondering if he has seen me practicing.

"So we have to get them to come out. We could cut off their supplies. How do you stop a train?" says Peeta.

Gale and I exchange glances.

"They would outlast us. The installation is well stocked." Plutarch says.

"Fire tends to burn uphill, right?" Gale says. "I mean there are other factors involved like wind, humidity and vegetation, but all things considered we could smoke them out."

"Not likely. But we'll keep that in mind." Plutarch dismisses the suggestion.

"I think our best tactic is to lure him out with the illusion of safety. As soon as Snow thinks the coast is clear, he'll move down to Camp Broadmoor. I've never known a man so hooked on luxury. He's a much easier target there. In the mean time, let's whip this army into shape."

"So to speak," Gale says to me and I wince, picturing the corrugated scars across his back.

By evening, our plan has begun to gel. The Mericans will occupy the ruins of the town surrounding Camp Broadmoor. Merican runners have sent word to all neighboring cities to gather and fight. We will try to infiltrate the Camp. Plutarch can still pose as an insider. It's a good thing that he saved his toupee. As far as Snow knows, he's simply been missing in action.

"We could try the Avox routine again," I suggest.

"No offense, but you were the worst Avox ever, Katniss," Plutarch laughs. "Besides, we have real ones, now."

We discuss the merits of poisoning the Broadmoor staff, but Plutarch is afraid it will tip-off Snow. "Our best bet is to lure him down with a sense of security. And we will be ready to attack."

My notoriety excludes me from the infiltration team. Feeling left out and useless, I sulk and listen to the plans. I'm assigned lookout. I'm hurt that this is all I have to offer.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Even though my ego is wounded, I still follow orders. I climb the highest treetop I can find. From my perch, I can see the entire Camp and the entrance to the NORAD facility on the side of the mountain. I settle back in the branches and wait. A mockingjay perches nearby and I teach it the merry little tune that I sang for the Mericans that first night. It answers back and carries the song across the valley.

Camp Broadmoor reminds me of the Capitol. The buildings are grand, but much older. The compound surrounds a series of ponds connected by bridges and rolling hills of green lawn spread out from all sides. It is serene and lovely. I can see why Snow would want to spend time here. It is also heavily fortified. Beyond the fences I can see the charred remains of a town. I wonder where the zoo is located. Plutarch told us that they used DNA from the zoo animals to design creatures for the Games.

Through my binoculars, I spot some pastelheads riding in a small, motorized cart. They are dressed in garish plaids, playing some sort of game. I watch them, trying to figure out the point of the sport. A small man with his back turned toward me swings a metal rod and hits a little white ball. He turns back to his companions and I catch a glimpse of his face. It's Snow. I lose my grip and nearly fall out of the tree. Regaining my composure and a better grip on the branches, I weigh my options.

Snow is out of range and I'm not the marksman I once was. I need to notify the troops that he is at the Camp. I sing the same tune from earlier this morning transposed into a minor key, hoping the mockingjays will spread the warning. They pick it up and it echoes ominously from bird to bird. Now I can only hope my comrades will interpret it correctly. I know I've been successful when I can see them massing outside the Camp walls.

A shot rings out from the guard tower, but one of the Merican sharp shooters takes out the guard. There is a commotion in the main building and more shots are fired, followed by the rhythm of automatic gunfire. Snow and his party take cover in one of the outbuildings. The Mericans are storming the walls. Somehow, I need to let them know where Snow is hiding. I shoot an arrow and it goes skimming across the grass. At first I think the effort was useless, but the Mericans seem to understand that my arrow points to Snow's hideout. They surround the building. After a brief standoff, Snow leaves the building surrounded by hostages. I can't make out any of the faces, but his tactic is effective. No one is willing to attack him.

A hovercraft lands frighteningly close to my tree. At first, I'm afraid I've been spotted, but in the chaos, I've gone unnoticed. Snow and his henchmen work their way across the green with hostages held at gunpoint. They are close enough now to watch without binoculars. Snow turns to the hovercraft and I catch my first glimpse of his hostage. It's my mother! She's badly injured and bleeding. The hovercraft lowers its ladder and I know it's my only chance.

I pull an arrow from my quiver and load the bow. Consumed with hatred, I pull back the string and aim. My arrow flies straight and true, nailing Snow in the head. As he falls, one of the Mericans shoots a grenade launcher into the hovercraft. The explosion nearly knocks me out of the tree. Our rebel troops swarm in for one last bloody battle. I shoot the rest of my arrows, but my aim isn't as lucky. At least I found my mark when it mattered most. I'm glad Snow was my kill. I climb down as quickly as I can, inching forward on a bough that overhangs the Camp barricade. I hang from the branch and drop to the grass below. The Mericans fight savagely and bravely, but there are heavy casualties on both sides. I cross the blood soaked lawn to find my mother. She was mortally wounded in the hovercraft explosion. I kneel beside her, hugging her and crying. She is bleeding out and there is nothing I can do. Her body seems to pulse ever so slightly, counting down a finite number of heartbeats. I take her hand and look into her eyes. "Love you, Mama," I choke. Her head nods again with one last pulse of life and her pale eyes become opaque. My mother is gone.

Blind with rage and grief, I turn my attention to Snow. My arrow split his skull, but the gore is anything but ordinary. Black blood, silicone and machine parts spill from his broken head. I should have known. Someone that evil couldn't be entirely human. I just never guessed he was a mutant. I remember the smell of blood on his breath. Maybe he drank blood in an effort to slow the change and stay human. And his genetically modified roses were meant to mask the odor. I feel and odd sense of understanding, perhaps even kinship.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The joy of triumph feels like little more than relief. Our fight has taken an enormous emotional toll on me. I'm tired. It would be easy to attribute my malaise to PTSD or mourning the loss of my mother. But I know I am changing. The wood grain pattern has spread beyond my shoulder, a pale tattoo reaching slowly for my head and heart. I don't know what will happen, or how long I have left. But I'm not afraid.

The Mericans and pastelheads celebrate, dancing in the streets, shooting guns into the air. Town cleanup begins and the Mericans bathe, hair combed back in wet furrows. I never knew Minty had red hair. I feel as if I'm seeing them all for the first time. I wish I could share their joy.

My legs feel unnaturally heavy and it requires a great deal of effort to climb the hill with my mother's funeral procession. Prim seems so small and lost; it breaks my heart to see her grieve. Peeta agrees to say a few words at the funeral. I don't think I could trust my own voice.

"Twila Everdeen was honored to be part of the war effort, proud to be needed. She was a gifted healer and many of us can attribute our survival to her skills. She was a beloved wife and mother and a treasured member of our community. It is with heavy hearts that we say goodbye to this great woman."

We each sprinkle dirt into the open grave and whisper our goodbyes. Gale has carved a lovely wooden grave marker. Peeta's dad places a large bunch of real roses on her grave. They are a lovely compliment to the bouquets of herbs and wildflowers. Roses are the sort of extravagance we could never have afforded in the Seam and I wonder how he even got them. The depth of his grief is surprising, especially since his witch of a wife stands nearby. I remember Peeta's stories about his dad's infatuation with my mother and my heart breaks for him.

My friends express their sympathy and return slowly to the camp below. I look out over the valley and think of Peeta's words. Perhaps there will be a town here. Anything is possible now. I stand beside my mother's grave and weep, unwilling to leave. Gale and Peeta stay close by, wanting to comfort me, but unsure of what to do.

"Come on, Katniss. Come back to the camp," pleads Peeta. He gently pulls my arm but my toes have rooted into the soft dark soil, splitting open my boots. I can't move. He tries to pull my legs loose but it hurts me. Rough bark envelops my legs, shredding my clothing. "Help me get this stuff off of her, Gale!" They struggle and tear at the bark. Gale even tries to cut it with his knife, but bright red blood flows from the gash. It's covering me too quickly.

"It is me," I say calmly. "You can't take it off, Peeta. I'm changing and there's nothing you can do."

Neither Gale nor Peeta are willing to accept this.

"Just promise you'll stay with me until it's over. I don't want to be alone."

"We're not leaving you."

"Gale, you are my life. And Peeta, you are my heart. Or maybe it's the other way around – I never really figured it out. I'm sorry I was never able to choose. I simply love you both too much."

I can tell Gale is blaming himself. He turns to me, seeking my forgiveness, but the bark has obscured my face. All that is left of me is the glint of gold from the edge of my mockingjay pin, swallowed up by the tree I have become.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Years go by. Gale marries Prim. They exchange vows beneath my branches. Petals and blossoms floating on the breeze are my blessing. I know he will always love and protect her.

Peeta becomes the first president of Merica and creates a government based on freedom and fairness. Cities and infrastructure are rebuilt, trade routes reestablished. His time in office is marked by peace and prosperity. But he never stops mourning me. He often sits on my tangled roots and tells me about his day. My only wish is that I could let him know I am listening. I have become a wonderful listener.

One day, I shelter Peeta under my umbrella of branches as a storm front blows through. He's humming a little song when lightning strikes. Some say he was killed instantly, but the truth is that the line between life and death had become too blurred. His spirit simply became part of this tree, swallowed up in an endless arboreal hug. We will always be together.

Countless summers come and go. History becomes legend and children still gather fruit and rest in the shade of our branches. They play games, sing songs and tell stories of a time when children knew hunger.


End file.
